Cherries & Punch
by Mizufae
Summary: Going to prom with Sam is going to be like a punch to the stomach, Freddie thinks. Oh, wait, that is only because she totally just did that. The stomach punch, that is. prom!fic, but not your usual, I dont think. Seddie, of course!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I know I have other irons in the fire, but I got plot bunnied like crazy. This is going to be maybe three chapters total. Read and review, if you please! I hope you enjoy. Special thanks goes to Jen, who proofread and helped title it!**

"Come on, I can't go alone. Kevin and I have only been out once before, and I need you there to keep it from getting all weird at the end of the night." Carly was leaning forward, her hip against the locker doors, entreating Sam with wide eyes. Sam stood opposite her nearly bowing friend, an eyebrow raised in consternation. Freddie observed obliquely from around the corner, pretending to organize his three ring binders.

"Weird?" Sam tapped a foot on the linoleum floor. "You think going with us would make it _less_ weird?"

Carly darted her eyes from side to side. "Well, you know how boys can be about prom night."

"Not just boys, Carls. Tricia Zerwicky has had a suite at the Holiday Inn reserved for her and Gibby for at least a month, now."

Freddie snorted, and rolled his eyes, wondering just how Gibby had managed to hook up with the hottest senior in Ridgeway High, but covered up his laughter with a cough so the girls wouldn't think he was eavesdropping. What was Carly trying to convince Sam to do, anyway?

"Don't try to change the subject!" Carly briefly pushed Sam on the arm. "I know you want to, anyway. You have for _ages_."

"I'm not gonna do it! You can't make me. I would probably die."

Carly leaned back against the lockers, sighed, and then had an idea. "I bet you a pair of shoelaces in every rainbow color that you won't do it."

Sam's face fell. "Including neon colors?" She shifted her weight between her feet.

"Including neon _and_ metallics. Deal?"

"Carly, after this is over and I'm lacing up all of my shoes," Sam said over her shoulder, walking away from her locker, "remind me that I have a problem and that I need to seek professional help."

Rushing to find the right books for his next class, Freddie looked up to see Sam walking backwards towards him. "Deal!" she shouted to Carly, who pushed herself off the locker doors and leaned over to watch. Sam spun around, her arms crossed, and waited for Freddie to stand up.

They appraised each other. It was the last Spring of their high school career, in that brief period when they were both eighteen. Freddie stood taller than Sam, but had never quite managed to shake the impression that she was hovering at least a foot higher than his head, glaring down her nose at him. He sighed, and relaxed his posture, hoping whatever it was wouldn't be too embarrassing.

"Hey, Sam." Freddie didn't force a smile; he steeled himself. What would it be this time? A ride to Canada? Wrestling practice? Rabid cat sitting? Information on some cute boy in his math class? Realizing that Sam had yet to respond, and was just standing there, grinding her palms together, Freddie toed her shin with his foot. "What's up?"

Sam groaned in frustration, the sound emanating from the back of her throat. Then she balled up her left fist and socked Freddie straight in the stomach, pushing the air out of his lungs in an extended outward gasp. "Gotopromwithme."

Freddie was shocked! Sam would still push him around sometimes, but she had grown out of straight up punching him in his tender spots at least two years ago. What the hell was her issue? He was being nice! They had been getting along so well lately, they had even planned a summer trip together, and what had she just said?

He coughed, pulling air back into his chest, clutching his stomach with one hand and steadying himself with the other against the cool metal of the locker doors. "Excuse me?"

She ran her hands through her hair and waved her arms around. Carly hovered nearby, wondering if she should cut in, but Sam gesticulated otherwise. "Go to prom with me, Freddie."

He was still bent over, but managed to laugh out, "if I say no, are you gonna do that again?"

Sam paused, mostly for effect. "Not with this hand, no. So?"

"Well, because you asked so nicely, okay." Freddie leaned against the lockers, rubbing his stomach, and watched Carly run off to her next class. Sam cut into his field of vision and waved a hand in front of his face.

"I asked you because Carly wanted us to double with her and Kevin. It isn't a real date," she declared. "Got it?"

Freddie waggled an eyebrow. "Do I have to get you a corsage and match your dress and girly stuff like that?"

"Yes." Sam leaned in towards him. "I will be wearing pink. Get a tux to match. Carly already called dibs on purple. Girly enough for you?"

He smirked, nodding. "Are we gonna go party with Zerwicky and Gibstein afterward?"

Suddenly Sam's posture shifted. Her hands were clasped behind her back, her hips angled. "Fredward, what sort of girl do you take me for?" Then she pushed her index finger, hard, against his collar bone, so his shoulder knocked against a combination lock. "You lay one finger on me that I don't want laid on me, and you won't have any fingers left to lay on anyone ever again." Then the bell rang, and Sam slipped away to her next class.

Freddie, late for AP chemistry, hoisted his backpack up from the floor, contemplating the fact that Sam hadn't _actually_ said she didn't want his fingers laid on her. Then, he realized that he had said yes to going to prom with Sam, felt a wave of nausea rise up through him, and sprinted to the nearest bathroom.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: This is more my usual chapter length. I am not sure if there will be one or two more chapters to this. Thanks for your kind comments. I hope you don't find this chapter OOC, but recall that this is years in the future, and that friends influence each other's moral codes more than they think. Please read and review! I looooove reviews!**

Freddie chided himself for ever agreeing to this ridiculous night. He scuffed the edge of his white patent leather shoe along the cement edge of Sam's porch stairs, waiting for her to emerge.

He knew he had a stubborn streak a mile wide, but when he had looked at himself in the mirror hanging on the back of his bedroom door that night, it really hit home. He supposed, in retrospect, that it was his fault he was currently wearing a pastel pink tuxedo.

Over the years, Sam had gone through phases. She had always been fairly girly, but since really hitting puberty, she would go over the top with it maybe once every few months, for about a week, and then go back to normal. It got to the point where Freddie would make fun of her on the days she showed up to school wearing something ruffly. Sam had told him he had to match her pink dress, likely as a way of getting back at him for making Samantha comments for the past four years. Instead of finding a pink bowtie and calling it a day, Freddie had felt inexplicably compelled to go all the way.

True, it was pretty classy, as far as pink tuxedos went. No ruffly shirt, no giant lapels. It had a simple cut, a black bowtie and a matching boutonniere to Sam's corsage, which was resting coolly in a pink box in his hand. But he was still wearing shiny white shoes and looked like a six foot tall laundry mishap. And the matching, of course, was all in the name of Carly's precious photos. This outfit would be immortalized forever, and likely put on their website for fans to vote on. He sighed, and knocked on Sam's door one more time.

"Hold your horses, my dress got stuck on the banister!" Sam's voice came through the window. There was a pause. Then, "heck, just come in already. Door's open."

Freddie considered, for a moment, the idea that he could just turn around and leave. He didn't have to do this, even if it was to help preserve Carly's virtue. She could take care of herself, and Kevin seemed like a stand up guy. Sure, prom night was the culmination of some people's best years, with pressure to have as good a time as humanly possible coming from every direction, but that didn't mean No didn't still mean No. It couldn't possibly be worth spending the whole night dealing with Sam in a dress that was stuck to a stairwell.

Without really thinking about it, Freddie had opened the door and stepped inside to see Sam's upper body emerging from an absolutely enormous swathe of pink fabric, which was wrapped thoroughly around a few spindles. He brought a palm to his forehead and slapped it. "Sam, you are not a cupcake. What _is_ that thing?"

"My dress, Fredwardo. You gonna help me out here, or what?" Sam pulled ineffectively at a layer encrusted with small sparkly things. Freddie dropped the corsage box on a side table and started working through the rustling layers of fabric. Luckily he had a better angle on it than Sam did, and quickly unhooked her. Then, he received a slap to the head.

"Ow! Come on, that was uncalled for!"

Sam looked down at him, a hand on her cinched hip. "You were looking up my skirt!"

Freddie helped her down the rest of the stairs. "How could I? The only thing under your skirt is more skirt!"

They stood opposite each other in the hallway, and gave themselves a good long stare. Sam's outfit was at least as ridiculous as Freddie's. It was just shiny and light pink on top, but from the waist it ballooned into some kind of cotton candy factory mishap. Every kind of pink showed up somewhere. There were bows. Sam was wearing a skirt with bows on it! Freddie started to laugh. "Is that seriously the dress you bought with Carly?"

Sam didn't respond at first because she was laughing too. "Your face is matching your outfit!"

Eventually they sobered up. "I can't believe this is Carly approved," Freddie said.

"It isn't. She just wouldn't shut up about this being the most perfect night, and how we all had to look pretty, and blah blah. I returned the thing we bought and got this one instead." Sam twirled, brushing Freddie's knees with layers of chiffon. "You like?"

"Well, it certainly makes a statement." He scratched his elbow. "Neither of us really wanted to go, huh?"

Sam shrugged, making rustling sounds throughout her dress. "We can't have Carly getting seduced by some kind of sinful man, now can we?" She walked to the side table with the corsage, and found her matching pink purse. "Is this for me?" she asked, holding the pink box.

"Oh, hah, speaking of sin." Freddie smirked, and waggled his eyebrows. "I thought it would be appropriate, considering."

She opened the box, and her eyes grew a bit wide. "Ooh, Freddie, this is _dirty_! Are they real?"

"You would eat them even if they weren't."

"Well, at least I'd try." Sam lifted her corsage out of the box and dropped the lid to the ground. "Stick it on me!" she said, pushing her chest out towards Freddie. He swallowed a bit, and leaned in to pin it. The corsage was a large cluster of Rainier cherries. They were peachy gold with a strong pink blush, and smelled delightful. It was awfully ostentatious, but amazingly, it kind of matched the dress. Freddie had figured, the only corsage Sam would really appreciate would be one she could eat.

She stepped back and adjusted the matching four cherries on Freddie's lapel. "Cherry preservation brigade?" she asked, with a wink.

"Well, I was going for subtle, you know?"

"Yeah, Carly won't ever get this one at all." Sam leaned in with rolling eyes and pulled off one of Freddie's cherries, chewing it quickly. "It looks better with three." She spat the pit expertly into a trashcan, and walked out the door. "Come on, we'll be late for spicing up Carly's pictures." Thank goodness he had an extra bag of cherries in the car.

***

About a hundred pictures later, Spencer stowed his camera, hugged Carly, and gave her a teary goodnight as she left with Sam, Freddie, and her date, Kevin. He had shown up with a purple bowtie and some orchids, and in comparison to Freddie, looked like a million bucks.

When he had arrived at the Shay's, nervously ringing the doorbell too long, Freddie had answered it. Kevin gave him one look up and down, and said nothing. Upon coming in and sitting on the couch, waiting for Carly to come down with Sam, Spencer had leaned in, and whispered loudly behind his hand, "Freddo here is really comfortable with his own masculinity, in case you were wondering." Kevin just nodded dumbly, relieved that Spencer wasn't grilling him with questions. Soon enough, the girls came down, and most of the tension was relieved as Spencer insisted on one awkward pose after another.

"Have a nice time and call me if you need me to get you and don't drink from the red cup!" Spencer waved out the door.

They all piled into Freddie's car. Sam spent a good minute folding up her skirt in the front seat. Carly and Kevin held hands discreetly while Freddie drove in relative silence. He turned on the radio, trying to relieve the sensation that he was being used as a chauffeur. Halfway there, he caught Sam's eye, who motioned to the couple in the backseat and made a puking face. He smiled in return, and turned up the dulcet tones of Super Freak by Rick James. Sam shimmied her shoulders in rhythm. Freddie grinned when he saw Carly start to blush in his rear view mirror.

Ridgeway High was all decked out for prom night. The theme was Fly Me To The Moon, and the gym was spangled with stars and giant Styrofoam planets. A rocket ship, garnished with enormous silver flowers, served as a photo backdrop. Carly leaned in to Kevin, bumping her body gently into his, as they walked inside. "I meant it, you know. You really do look very handsome." She giggled her most alluring girly laugh. Freddie and Sam sighed, simultaneously.

Sam caught sight of the decorations and leaned in to Freddie. "Do astronauts drink rum? I have to make sure I'm keeping to the theme." She shook her clinking pink purse, which was, he realized, about the size of a few flasks.

Freddie stopped in his tracks. "Sam!" he hissed. "You are not going to make the entire graduating class drunk off cheap rum!"

"Hey, who said it was cheap? My mom spends good money on her booze." Sam shrugged out of Freddie's loose grip on her bare shoulders. "Oh, look! They have cocktail weenies! Go get me some."

He raised an eyebrow. "I am not so easily distracted, Sam."

She pouted. "Aw, come on, at least let me spike my own drink."

Freddie screwed up his mouth, considering his options. Let Sam be drunk, or let Sam make everyone else drunk. Gibby swanned past the two of them, wearing a tuxedo with tails, and no shirt. He ran a hand through his hair. "Fine. But you're spiking mine, too."

Sam broke out one of her hundred watt smiles. "There's my boy! Go get us some of that punch."

From the punch bowl, Freddie saw Carly and Kevin dancing among the throng of overdressed teenagers. Carly sure didn't look like she needed protecting as she grabbed Kevin's waist and shook her hips. Freddie pursed his lips and returned to Sam with two cups of punch.

"Any idea what flavor this is?" Sam asked.

"Red flavor." He watched as she unscrewed the cap on her flask and dolloped a sizeable portion of alcohol into each drink.

"Well, it's Andromeda Rum Punch, now!" Sam took a large swig, and wiped her mouth, smearing her carefully applied lipstick. "Drink up. We have a long time to waste." She pulled a cherry off her corsage and placed it on her tongue.

He took another long look at the crowd. Lights made to look like nebulas swirled over the dancers. Popular music coursed from the speakers in a torrent. His mother was definitely not around. Freddie chugged the punch in three gulps, grabbed Sam's hand, and dragged her onto the dance floor.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N This last chapter is extremely long! Over four thousand words! Maybe one day I will go back and redo the chapter breaks. Anyway, I hope that you enjoy. I think that I was influenced by Jannika's tweendom anon, but not in the way that you think. Thanks for reading.**

It was hot on the dance floor, among the bodies of his classmates, and the alcohol was churning rapidly through Freddie's system. He wiggled his hips and tried to remember a few moves as he watched the pink puffball of Sam's dress sway rhythmically, a two foot radius naturally occurring around its bulk.

This was only the third time Freddie had ever drunk booze; his body wasn't used to it. The first time, Sam had made real piña coladas for a Hawaiian themed iCarly instead of the virgin kind. It had led to some unfortunate consequences when his mother had watched the broadcast, as well as some of the highest viewcounts in iCarly history. The second time involved Sam's mother and a beer and a mistaken identity, and was best not thought of. Especially not right now, Freddie ruminated dully, when Sam was so close by, rustling in her candy pink gown, covered in a thin sheen of sweat. It was like powdered sugar, only instead of being on a donut, it was on a prison cake with shards of glass and a file baked right in.

Damn, Freddie was a lightweight.

He worked his way through the crowd, abandoning Sam as she shook her head wildly to the beat of the latest blonde popstar's hit, to get a drink of water. Carly and Kevin were nearby, sipping something fizzy near the water coolers.

"I know she's my ex but we're still friends, and she wanted to dance!" Kevin had a pout to his mouth, his stance defensive, with arms crossed.

Carly seemed more annoyed than angry. "You don't just let her cut in like that, she was supposed to ask me if it was okay."

"What, is this the eighteenth century? Come on, Carly, we've only been out like, twice. You aren't my _girlfriend_, you're my _date_." He chugged down the rest of his gingerale, seemingly to avoid making eye contact with Carly, who was scoffing incredulously at him. She was distracted, however, by a chuckling snort from Freddie.

"Oh! Um, hey, Freddie." She turned to see Freddie cover up his laughter with a choking gulp of cool water. "What did you think was so damn funny?"

Freddie looked down at the cherries on his lapel. Thoughtfully, he plucked one off, and chewed the sweet flesh off the pit. "It's our prom, Carly. You're the one who wanted to go so badly. You're the one who wanted to have such a perfect time. If Kevin wants to have a dance with a friend, he can."

"Thank you! See, I knew this guy was cool." Kevin slapped Freddie on the shoulder jovially.

"Besides, Rebecca isn't nearly as hot as you." Freddie spat the cherry pit out neatly into a napkin.

Kevin pointed at him. "Hey, watch it, Fred. That's my date you're talking about. Even though you are totally right."

Carly's posture shifted from annoyed to angry to pleased all in one swift movement. "Aw, it's just some makeup."

"Well you don't even need it. Let's get back in there, okay?" Kevin guided Carly with a hand on the small of her back towards the dance floor. Right before they got there, Kevin ran back and leaned in, close to Freddie. "Thanks dude, I so owe you one."

Freddie rolled his eyes. "Just don't do anything I wouldn't do, okay?"

As Kevin gave Freddie the finger guns, bang bang, Freddie scoffed. Cherry preservation brigade, his ass. Speaking of, Sam appeared, parting the crowd with her unique mixture of grace and tactlessness.

"Scuse me pardon me move it!" she shouted. "Hey Fredarina, what's shakin'?"

He handed her a cup of ice. "Carly and Kevin are doomed."

Sam stood behind Freddie, away from the chaperone's sight. She hitched up her skirt, found a flask, and poured rum straight over the rocks. "Well yeah, I coulda told you that."

"Just now, they had a tiff, and Kevin called Carly specifically not his girlfriend."

"Ooh, harsh. But it's your fault. And also, never use the word 'tiff' again."

"My fault? I'll have you know, I just caused Carly's entire night to be salvaged!" Freddie shook his head no to Sam's offer of more alcohol.

She shrugged, took a swig, and explained. "Look, you spoiled her. Now she thinks that every boy who takes a liking to her should want to marry her. I know you've moved on and all that crap, but that sort of thing makes an impression on a girl."

"Hey, just because I am a romantic doesn't make it my fault that the rest of the male population isn't." Freddie drank another glass of water. "And stop drinking that. You'll embarrass yourself."

"Ooh, sounds like somebody needs some more rum. Carly, too, by the sound of it." Sam smiled, and swiftly shoved a rummy ice cube into Freddie's gaping mouth. Before he could respond with a sputtering remark, a high pitched squeal echoed through the room, stopping everyone in their tracks.

"Um, hi. Sorry about that." Principal Franklin stood on a small stage, next to a large shimmery paper moon, holding a microphone. "Good evening, students of Ridgeway High!" A dull cheer rose from the crowd. "We've got a lot of partying to do tonight, right?" Another dull cheer. Principal Franklin coughed, and pulled an envelope out of his jacket pocket. "Well, okay then. Without further ado, I'd like to announce your prom queen and king for this year's graduating class!"

The kids formed up, then, realizing what was going on. Most of them clustered near the stage, leaving room in the middle for the prom royalty to gather. The DJ put on a drum roll. "Your Ridgeway High prom queen is…Tricia Zerwicky!"

A scream rose from the crowd, and a yellow dress flew up the short stairs to the stage. Tricia glittered all over, from her dress to her teeth and now, her crown. "Oh, thank you, thanks everybody!" She gushed into the microphone, amidst a genial level of applause.

Freddie was glad. He liked Tricia. Everybody liked Tricia! That was why she had won, he supposed. Sam nudged him in the ribs. "She looks like Big Bird on Ice, am I right?"

"Shut up, Sam." He smiled back at her, and she pulled a sullen look.

Principal Franklin battled briefly with Tricia and got his microphone back. "And now, your Ridgeway High prom king is…wait a minute." He looked studiously at the inside of his envelope. "Hrm. I guess if they double checked… Apparently, folks, the majority of the votes were a write in for a student not in this graduating class. But it says they checked the rules and it is okay, so, your new prom king is Gibby! Mister Gibstein, are you here tonight?"

Rousing cheers erupted from the student body. Gibby ran up the steps and slung an arm around Tricia's waist. "You bet your boxers I'm here!" He had grown, but not out of his shirtlessness. The tails of his tux jacket flapped as he grabbed the mic. "Hey party people!"

Everyone screamed. Freddie covered his ears.

"I gotta dance with my lady right now. But after this, I promise to dance with each and every one of you!" More screaming, and a few roses flew up onto the stage around Gibby and Tricia's feet. He handed the mic back to Principal Franklin and threw up the horns to the crowd.

In an abrupt change of tone, _Fly Me to the Moon_ by Sinatra started to play. Everyone made room for Tricia and Gibby to dance in the middle of the floor, a spotlight illuminating their sparkling crowns. After the first few steps, everyone else started to pair off. Carly and Kevin had apparently made up just fine, since they were slow dancing in each other's arms nearby. Sam and Freddie shared meaningful glances at one another.

"Do you, um, what do you think?" Freddie asked vaguely, a hand in his pocket.

"Want a cherry?" Sam pulled one off of her corsage and dipped it in her rum.

"God, yes." Freddie snatched the cherry out of her fingers, which, he noticed, sported matching pink nail polish. "And some more of that Andromeda punch, while you're at it." They rustled over to the punch bowl, waving hello to the smattering of other single prom goers chilling near the bleachers, who were watching the couples hold each other with an adolescent mixture of envy and pity.

***

The rest of the dance went by like a blur. Gibby stayed true to his promise, dancing passionately and half naked with each and every person at the prom, including a dismayed Miss Briggs, and all of the lonely prom attendees by the bleachers. Sam spent her time split between dancing, eating cookies, and spiking her and Carly's drinks.

After Freddie tasted rum in his third cup of punch, he'd told her no more if she ever wanted a ride from him again. It managed to work, somehow. Maybe she was just in a good mood. She seemed like it, dancing back to back with Carly in the middle of the crowd. Freddie could see her quite well from his vantage point behind the DJ booth.

"She's like a lighthouse, Freddie." Quentin, Freddie's friend from AV and the prom DJ, tweaked the bass a smidge.

"Yeah, she is kind of a sign of impending doom." He plugged in a line of twinkling lights that had been badly wired.

Quentin grinned widely. "Man, I just meant you can see her from far away. You always talk smack about her."

"At any opportunity."

"You must like impending doom a lot."

Freddie put Quentin's headphones back on Quentin's head, and plunged back into the crowd.

There were fast songs and slow songs, awful ballads and Quentin's attempt at disco selections, cookie breaks and foot rest breaks and bathroom breaks, and suddenly, the prom started to wind down. Freddie was breathless. Sam was drunk. They were out on the front lawn, breathing some cool air.

"Why don't these stupid dresses ever have sleeves?" Sam asked the air in front of her. She plucked at the cluster of stems pinned to her chest. They were all that was left of the magnificent corsage. Freddie sighed. They had seemed like such a clever idea, but such things never last. She had spent her free moments of the night spitting cherry pits at people she didn't like. He shrugged off his jacket and slung it around Sam's shoulders.

"You shouldn't feel cold, you're drunk." He rubbed her arms in the oversized sleeves of his clashing pink jacket.

"You are such a gentleman!" Sam leaned into him. "But now your outfit isn't complete."

"Good. I look like a clown in this thing." Freddie stood Sam up, away from his chest.

"Nah." Sam shook what was left of her flask of rum, and brazenly took a swig of it. "I think you look like a tall, cool glass of pink lemonade." Then she gasped, and covered her mouth with her hand. "Shut up, Sam," she mumbled out from her hand.

He blushed, wondering how much alcohol was still swimming around his blood stream, too. "Well you look, um, remarkable, you know."

Sam pulled his jacket closer around her shoulders and peered blearily up at him. "Freddie, you should probably know, I -- "

"Samantha Puckett! What do you think you're doing?" Miss Briggs stamped up to them, utterly breaking the mood. "Was that a flask I just saw in your hand?" She gasped, horrified. "You reek of liquor!"

"Aw, shut yer trap, Briggsy. I drank it all already." Sam stuck her hands on her hips as best she could, inside the sleeves of Freddie's jacket.

"Miss Briggs, we were just leaving. I am going to take her home." Freddie pulled on Sam's elbow.

"Wait! Fred!" Kevin's voice shot out over the lawn, past a few other overheated prom goers. He staggered his way over to Sam, Freddie, and Miss Briggs, Carly leaning heavily on his arm. Upon closer inspection, Kevin was half carrying her.

"Come on… Kevin, don't you want to? Gibs an' Zerwicky invited us, and we could do it and be girlfren an boyfren after right?" Carly looked trashed, there was no other word for it.

Freddie shot Sam an accusatory look. Sam shrunk back, looking between Miss Briggs, her best friend, and her best friend's put upon date. "What! She must've had something else, too. Look, I can form complete sentences still. I just say stuff I'm not supposed to."

Freddie hoisted Carly's other side up. "Sam, you have muscle mass."

"Oh, hey Fredward! Want to have sex with me and Kevin?" Carly slapped his face lightly, and then passed out, slack in a matter of seconds onto the grass.

"You gotta help me, Fred." Kevin looked terrified.

"All of you, get out of my prom! Out! Right now!" Miss Briggs grabbed Sam's empty flask, and clomped her way back into the gym.

Kevin carried her shoulders. Freddie got the ankles. And Sam got Carly's midsection. She took the opportunity to say something that had obviously been bugging her. "Kevin, if you're gonna be our friend, you gotta know. It's Freddie, with an I E. If you call him Fred one more time, I'll punch your face in."

Across Carly's prone body, Kevin raised an eyebrow at Freddie. Freddie just shrugged and nodded. They stowed Carly across Kevin's lap in the backseat and Freddie gunned it back to the Bushwell.

***

"Spence was gonna kill Kevin!" Sam and Freddie were sitting on Sam's stoop about twenty minutes later.

"Well it was your fault. He should kill you." He leaned back on his elbows.

"I, Sam, am beloved by Spencer Shay, and he would never lay a hand on me." Sam placed a hand to her chest. "Even if I did get his baby sister schlitzed and tell her to give it up to get it over with."

Freddie gaped. "You didn't. Did you?"

Sam gave him a sly look. Then she slapped him on the knee. "Come on, come inside. My butt hurts." She stood up with an uncharacteristic groan. Then she patted her sides. "Fudge buckets!"

"What?"

"My purse is back at the prom. If Briggs sees us back there, I'll get expelled. We're locked out."

Five minutes later, all Freddie could see was layers of pink chiffon. "Harder! Push harder!" Sam shouted at him.

"Maybe you shouldn't have eaten those cookies! Or, ungh! Anything, ever!" Freddie shoved hard on Sam's butt, grunting and straining, her bare, dirty feet in his face.

They had managed to wedge open the window to Sam's room by climbing a tree. Their shoes were abandoned at its roots. But the window had stuck only partially open, and now Sam was having trouble getting even her petite frame through. It was quite a view, her giant fatcake of a dress, hanging out the window.

With a final shove, Sam popped through into her bedroom. "Woah!" Freddie lost his balance in the tree, and nearly fell out of it, except Sam's hand shot out and caught him at the last second. Rebalanced, she disappeared for a second and came back with a crowbar, with which she got the window the rest of the way open.

Freddie tumbled in, rolling on top of Sam with all the grace of a moose at a tea party. He ended up with his face by her breasts. God, he was tired. Maybe she wouldn't mind if he just had a bit of a nap at that very moment.

"I need another drink," Sam said. And she squirmed out from under him, leaving Freddie flushed and frustrated. "You do too. No excuses." Her voice came from down the hall. There was the clink of glasses.

"Don't you think your mom might notice?" he asked, once Sam came back with two glasses full of something very dark and a bottle of something very light.

"Notice what?" Sam shoved a space clear on her cluttered desk and set about finishing the drinks. "I don't know if you've noticed, but my mom is kind of a drunken slut."

Freddie laughed at her frank summation. "Oh, come on…"

"No, really, I mean, she's fine and she's my mom and all, but she isn't gonna be back tomorrow, and she isn't gonna notice the ingredients for a big batch of White Russians missing." Sam handed Freddie a glass. He sniffed it. It smelled like coffee and vodka. "It'll taste like coffee and vodka. You'll like it."

Freddie took a gulp. "I like it."

"Goody gumdrops. Drink up." Sam plopped down next to him on her bed, shedding his jacket.

Freddie untied his bowtie, leaving it around his neck. "Is she also not gonna notice me passed out on the couch? Because if you get me drunk, that is what's gonna happen."

Sam was staring at him.

"What?" Freddie took another sip. It was creamy and good, and burned a little in the back of his throat. He was going to learn what a hangover really felt like, tomorrow morning, he could tell already.

She was stock still, staring at Freddie, but the clink of melting ice in her glass shook her out of whatever it was. Sam chugged half her drink in one go. "You're a virgin, right?"

Freddie spluttered, coughing a little White Russian up his nose. "What?" he sniffled. "I mean, yeah, um, who would I have done it with and you wouldn't have known?"

"I don't know, I was just makin' sure." Sam got up and refilled her glass, even though it wasn't empty.

"Are you?" Freddie asked it quickly, like one would ask if somebody wanted seconds at dinner.

"What, unicorn friendly? Sure thing. Same as you. Why wouldn't you have known?" She slowed her drinking, finally, sipping regularly from her glass.

"Well, you do a lot of stuff without me, and I don't exactly demand intimate details about your dates like Carly always does. And you drink, I didn't really know how much till tonight." He toed his way out of his itchy socks.

"The drinking is just a show. This is pretty new for me. I learned by osmosis, from Mom."

"Osmosis? Big word there, Puckett."

"Shut up. Anyway I save all the big firsts for you." Sam pulled pins out of her hair, causing it to tumble down, sweaty and frizzy and gold, over her peach shoulders.

It was Freddie's turn to chug and refill his drink. When his back was turned, Sam started to talk again.

"First punch to the face, first passenger with my driver's license, first time sharing a ham…" Sam was rambling.

Freddie sat back down next to her. She was avoiding eye contact. "First kiss, Sam. And first secret that you've never spilled to anyone. Remarkably enough."

"Hey, I keep lots of secrets. Loads, even. Anyway it's just stupid, the sex thing."

"You're drunk, Sam. You want me to suggest it, well I'm not gonna. Not this time." He set his glass down on the floor at the foot of the bed, and when he sat back up, Sam grabbed the ends of his bowtie and pulled him forward into another kiss.

She wasn't letting him breathe. He pushed her away, gently, and gasped for air. He held up one finger to her, while he leaned down and drank the last drops of his drink. Meanwhile, Sam was pawing at her own dress. She zipped down the opening on the side, breathing heavily after having her waist constricted for so long. Freddie watched with wide eyes as the tops of her breasts peaked out above the beaded top.

Oh, he was in for it. But his inhibitions had officially been lowered far enough that he couldn't take it anymore. Sam grabbed his jaw and started fumbling with the buttons of his shirt with her other hand, kissing him along the cheekbone and making small sexy noises in the back of her throat. Freddie felt his eyebrows raising and his eyes rolling as his body gave in and he grasped her around the waist, pushing her down onto her own bed.

His hands slid beneath her bodice, feeling her curves and exploring the warm, soft skin that had been hidden behind that stupid dress all night long. The skirt pooled between his legs, and he gasped into her mouth as he felt her knee rubbing along the inside of his thigh, the ruffles doing absolutely nothing to lessen the sensation.

Sam smelled and tasted like sweat, and booze, and salt, and bacony nitrates, and Freddie suddenly couldn't get enough of her. He knew it was the alcohol, but as he licked down the curve of her left breast, and languidly wound a hand into her hair, he was pretty sure that this was going to be the high point of his entire life.

She groaned a little, and suddenly Freddie's back was against the mattress and Sam was on top of him, her hand fumbling drunkenly at his crotch, trying to lift her own skirt at the same time. "I hate buttons!" she exclaimed, her voice cracking as Freddie found a particularly sensitive spot on her neck with his tongue.

He wasn't entirely sure what to do. Freddie had only ever gone as far as second base, and while he understood the basic mechanics, he wasn't exactly in a state to recall late night reading on the internet, six months prior. But then Sam's hand found its way into his pants, and she grasped his erection with brazen fingers, and all thought of illicit online research flew straight out of his head.

Freddie had an immediate urge to reciprocate, so he dug through the layers of Sam's skirt until he found there wasn't anymore, and captured her mouth with his, cutting her off mid sentence as she was_ telling_ him that he liked what she was doing. His hands explored her thighs and her panties and he felt just how wet she was. A mixture of sweat and arousal met his fingers and he touched something that made her grunt and bite down, hard, on his lower lip.

"Sam, wait, wait." They froze, mouths on each other's faces, hands on each other's bodies.

"Wait?" She rubbed slow circles with her free hand on his bare back.

Freddie shivered. "I should really wash my hands. We just climbed a tree."

Sam let out a breath. "Oh for cryin' out loud."

They untangled from each other, and Freddie tripped on their empty glasses on his way to the bathroom. "There's condoms in the linen closet!" Sam's voice carried down the hall. Freddie amazed himself by finding out there was enough blood left in his upper body to let him blush beet red. He surreptitiously smelled his fingers before washing his hands, and quickly the rest of his body. Sam might smell insanely delicious all the time, but he certainly didn't seem to.

Freddie took his time. He wanted to do this right. He didn't want to give Sam any opportunity to never let him live it down. And he was scared as hell. He was still fairly drunk, but as he rummaged through the mess of the Puckett's linen closet, he started to sober up a little, thinking about what had just happened.

They had been beating around it all evening. Hell, before that. Their whole deal was sexual tension. What if they got the tension out of their system? Would they even be friends anymore? Freddie finally found the condoms in an old bandaid box, right as his erection subsided.

He didn't like to think about it so directly, usually. But she had punched him in the stomach, made him go to prom with her, and gotten him drunk in her bedroom. She obviously wanted it just as bad as he did. Why had they waited so long? Why weren't they just honest with each other, all the time? What was the point to life, if not to have the most excellent sex possible at any given moment? And right now, Sam was waiting for him, willing, and horny, and totally drunk out of her mind, and probably worried about Carly, and lonely because her mom wouldn't be back for God knows how long.

Freddie was an idiot. He walked back, slowly, to Sam's room, clad just in his pink pants, with a box full of condoms in his hand. "Hey, um, Sam, I don't know if we should, I mean, you're probably kind of confused right now and I think maybe we should try taking it a little slow and…Sam?"

She was splayed out on her back, her dress entirely askew. Sam's mouth hung open and she was snoring like a foghorn. Freddie yawned in sympathy. He trudged over and poked her several times until she sat up.

"Arms up." Her arms shot up, limply, and Freddie lifted her dress over her head, chucking it onto the floor with as much force as he could muster. Almost immediately, Sam collapsed back onto the bed. Freddie pulled the blanket up over her nearly naked form, all the way to her chin. He wobbled back to the bathroom, filled a glass of water, left it by Sam's bed, and promptly fell asleep in a heap on the floor.

Five minutes later her woke up to a pillow being chucked at his head. He sat up, shivering. He was freezing! And still pretty inebriated. Sam stood over him, wobbling a bit, wearing a big grey sweatshirt and basically nothing else.

"Get into bed with me or I'll sucker punch you in the stomach again."

Freddie scrambled up off the floor. "No you won't."

"Don't make me prove myself." She climbed under the covers, and patted beside herself with a tired hand. Freddie got in, nervously holding the pillow in his lap. "Here. The last two, from your lapel." She held a cherry out in front of his face, by the stem.

Freddie yawned, and took it from her with his mouth, watching her chew her own. When she finished, he leaned in and kissed her as they held cherry pits in their palms. By the time the kiss was over, they had fallen asleep in a tangle of tired limbs.

**The End! **

**Please review, I really appreciate and enjoy them! Especially the specific and thoughtful ones. Thanks for reading!**


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